


REINDEER GAMES

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the record, Merlin hates mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	REINDEER GAMES

Gwen gives him a hearty shove and Merlin stumbles forward, feet always seeming to be larger than they actually are, and when Merlin has regained his balance, if not his dignity, he whirls around with a shout. 

“What the hell was that for?”

Gwen is giggling and so is Morgana and Merlin’s automatic response is to grin back at them. Women. Seriously. He does not get them.

“I think I know what they’re up to, Merlin,” Arthur says. He’s standing in the stone archway just behind him and is posed in such as way one would assume he’s holding up all of Camelot: arms crossed, shoulder pressed against the wall, leg crossed over the other. With Uther on a hunt for several days, the Prince is much more relaxed, leaning here, slouching there, smiling and laughing, lying in bed for hours at a time, and drinking far too much. Merlin rather likes this Prince. This is the sort of King he may one day have, if Arthur can ever get over himself and stop being such a prat.

“What. What are they up to?” Merlin doesn’t get it, and now he’s the only one. Arthur is smirking. “Seriously. What?”

“Look.” Arthur points upward. Stuck up at the top of the archway is a small clutch of mistletoe, one could certainly be excused for missing it. “I think the ladies find it amusing that we are supposed to kiss.”

Merlin coughs. He _wishes_. “I’m never one for following the rules,” Merlin says. He takes a slight bow. “I would like to inquire if one of the ladies, Gwen perhaps, would take my place as mistletoe victim.”

“Oh no,” Morgana interjects. “That’s not fair. How could you do that to poor Gwen? No, Merlin, there are no stand-ins. You and Arthur must kiss. It’s the spirit of the holidays. You don’t to spoil it do you?”

In fact, poor Gwen looks like Morgana has just spoiled _her_ holidays, and her look suggests ever so slightly that she wouldn’t mind if Morgana was tied to the stake with a hollyberry garland or two. Merlin isn’t quite sure what to do now, he was certain the Gwen ploy would work, and would be satisfactory to all.

“Morgana, then,” Arthur tries. “You stand in for me and kiss Merlin. You are standing quite close to him, one would think it’s the two of you and not me at all.”

“Liar,” Morgana chides. “You two are clearly under the mistletoe. Everyone else will have their chance to make the same mistake later on. Come now, let us see the Great Arthur Pendragon’s famous kissing skills.”

So that was what this was all about. Merlin had noticed some extra tension in Morgana lately, ever since the Vivian debacle. Without any sort of explanation, Morgana was probably left under the impression that Arthur was unkind, fickle and worse, that he didn’t trust her enough to confide in her the matters closest to his heart. And while all that may have been true to a certain extent, Morgana didn’t even have the full story and come to think of it, Morgana rarely did get the full story on any of the happenings, strange or otherwise, at Camelot.

Morgana’s arms are folded now and so are Gwen’s. Huh, Merlin thinks, they’re invested in this, aren’t they? “Arthur, maybe we should just…”

“I’m not kissing my manservant,” Arthur says loftily. “It would be unseemly. Gwen you may kiss him for me.”

Gwen’s face falls even further. Merlin suspects that both Morgana and Arthur are going to pay for this in little ways all week: slightly mildewed laundry, stale bread and unswept floors. “Thank you, Arthur, I’ll kiss whomever I like, whenever I like. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

“I didn’t, I mean I… that’s not what I meant!” Arthur stops smiling and stares at Gwen. 

“If I kiss the Royal Crown Prat, can we all get back to work?” Merlin asks. “I for one have three full carts of fresh ivy to wind around the banisters and balustrades before I can even think about the five hundred candles that must be placed and lit by tonight’s feast.”

“Yes,” Morgana says, staring hard at Arthur. “After you kiss, you will be free to do… whatever it is you do.”

Merlin sighs. He wants it over with. The less time he has to anticipate the thought of Arthur’s lips, the better. Then he’ll have to work on getting over it. It was going to be a long day.

Arthur moves closer to Merlin and stares at him. “Okay, let’s give the ladies what they want, aye Merlin?”

“Yes. What the ladies want. The ladies should get what they want.” Arthur moves even closer, leans in and Merlin closes his eyes. “Damn mistletoe to hell,” he murmurs. Arthur curls a hand gently around Merlin’s nape and guides him in, brushing his lips softly over Merlin’s. Merlin sighs again, this time into Arthur’s mouth. His stomach drops to his feet and then rebounds up into his throat, his pulse flutters wildly and his cock twitches. 

Oh yeah, he’s so totally screwed. 

“Do you think that is satisfactory?” Arthur whispers to Merlin, still holding on to him. 

“Um, yeah. I mean, no. No, I don’t think they’ll say it counts,” Merlin whispers back urgently. Just one more, he promises himself, and then no more of this silliness.

Arthur leans in again, placing his lips more firmly on Merlin’s, fitting them together. Merlin lifts his arms and wraps them around Arthur. Hey, he has an excuse; he can just say he’s getting into character. Morgana giggles off to one side but the women are by now, distant beacons of that world where Merlin doesn’t get to kiss Arthur. Arthur deepens the kiss and Merlin lets him, opens his mouth so their tongues can meet, slide past each other and twirl around in pleasurable circles. This will be more than enough to please them, and Merlin too. 

Just as the kiss seems to have reached its apex and is ready to end, Merlin stiffens in preparation for the inevitable mockery Arthur is going to follow up with, the wry looks Gwen is going to give him and the stern appraisal from Morgana. He glances up and sees, instead of triumph, something else on Arthur’s face.

Arthur looks shocked, terribly, terribly shocked. He looks vulnerable, like he just learned his favorite horse has been lamed. He looks sort of like he did when he was enchanted to fall in love with Vivian. “Sire? Not too horrifying, I hope?”

“Horri- no, that’s not it,” Arthur says, but the puzzled look doesn’t fade. It’s like he’s seeing Merlin for the first time. Merlin narrows his eyes and wonders if he didn’t just enchant Arthur accidentally. He’s heard these things can happen. He turns around to look at Gwen and Morgana. Gwen is scowling slightly less, but she’s pale and looks put off. Morgana, however, is triumphant. Her eyes are glowing and she smirks from one to the other. She’s enjoyed her revenge on Arthur; it seems to have gone even better than she’d hoped, for Arthur is clearly embarrassed.

“Happy now, ladies?” Merlin asks out of spite. 

“Yeah, thrilled,” Gwen says. “Morgana, shall we get you dressed for the feast tonight? I hear there will be handsome men, ones who actually don’t kiss their manservants.”

The two of them flounce away, and Merlin can’t tell if they think they’ve won or lost. He really doesn’t get women.

Apparently he doesn’t get men either, because as soon as Morgana and Gwen have turned the corner, Arthur pulls him close again, and picks up where they left off. Merlin is so surprised he can’t react, can’t move, and Arthur backs off. “Uh, sorry, Merlin, I thought you… uh nevermind. Just joking around.”

“Right. Uh, Sire. Very funny. You’re a riot, you are.”

“Right. Wine. Ale. Feast. Roast beast. I want to look especially good tonight. There are supposed to be ladies there – ones who _don’t_ make me kiss my manservant!”

“What are we waiting for?” Merlin asks uncomfortably through his usual grin. Arthur is confusing him now. “A hot bath? Your red tunic?” And as he babbles on about the coming evening and Arthur’s plans, they manage to smooth over the mistletoe incident and everything is back to normal.

Normal. Merlin can do normal.


End file.
